


EVERY/NO/ANY THING

by studioSTARMOON



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28066248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/studioSTARMOON/pseuds/studioSTARMOON
Summary: Something I originally wrote to parody my high school literary festival's views on personal essays.
Kudos: 1





	1. NOTHING

I would like to start this off by saying that you have free reign to try your hardest to have the best life you can have—but I don’t really feel like saying anything like that. The truth is, even if you think something you do is a one-time event that will never come up again—something you can toss out, essentially—it will always come back to haunt you. There will never be a moment in your life when something you do doesn’t have a greater effect on your life than you initially thought. If there’s one thing you can take away from this, let it be that the world is always watching. I learned this the hard way, you could say—a way that seems unconventional, incongruous to the present canon, something that will never make sense to anyone anywhere for the rest of time. So be it. Let me tell you this now, however: I will not allow you to win so easily. I will place lie after lie within this tale—my tale of woe—and I will make you question what is truly real, and what is not. This is what you asked for. And so, because of this, I will let you discern what is truth and what is lie—you shall determine if this tale deserves to be considered a _“_ personal essay _”_ or simply a work of fiction, but remember this: Fiction has the power to speak more truths than nonfiction could ever dream of. With that in mind, the tale of how I was punished for stealing the most precious object you could possibly steal begins. What is that object, you ask? Well, that object, of course, is one’s heart.

I will let you know now that I am quite the businessman. I will do whatever it is that I am tasked with; therefore, I am a man of many businesses. (This may make you think down on me, but I shall say it nonetheless:) If there is enough money involved, there is a very high likelihood that I will take the job. If someone were to then pay me handsomely to withdraw from that job immediately, I would not hesitate. That’s just the type of man I am. If there is one thing to take away from this, let it be that money is what makes the world go around, and without it, you are nothing. On this, you can trust me, as I had to suffer that pain in my past, as well. Just because I may be evil doesn’t mean I never faced hardships. In fact, maybe it is because of said hardships that I have become the man I am today. Never discount one’s life just because you don’t know what they have had to go through—although I say that now, I must say, I never think about it myself. It would make my job harder to think of what my clients or victims may have gone through beforehand—and so, I do not. Call me a hypocrite, call me a fool, call me whatever you want. It does not hurt me, as it is nothing new to my ears.

I may not say this often, but I do apologize for getting sidetracked. I have a story to tell, and that is what I must. If I get sidetracked any further, I will not be able to finish within the ten-page limit. Then again, maybe I would prefer that. How about a compromise—I will get on with my tale, but if I do not finish within the ten pages, then so be it. I will simply leave it off without even finishing the sentence—maybe not ever the word. That is what happens when you deal with—not only a swindler, but also—a ten-page limit. And so, let me really start this story—this tale of absolutely nothing. Nothing important, no one important, and nothing to truly learn—but maybe that’s a lie, too.

It was not too long ago that I received a very strange phone call. I would put down the number of the caller here, but even I am not so foolish as to do that. I may be evil, but I am certainly no inconvenience. The call was short and did not get to the point whatsoever. There were eight simple words spoken through the speaker, and the call ended before I had a chance to ask for how much. The words: _“I want you to steal Briar Lane’s heart.”_ Now that was new. Never in my businesses have I ever gotten a request to steal a girl’s heart, but I wasn’t all that impressed by the order, either. Nothing can shake these old boots anymore—no, that’s a lie. There is never a time in one’s life when nothing will make them quake. I just make sure to hide everything I have felt up to this point, and by doing so, no one knows what it is that scares me. I am essentially hidden behind a mask—a very ironic metaphor, if I do say so myself.

As soon as the call ended, though, I sat for a moment thinking. _Is this a job I can do? Is there a reason this…person…wants Briar Lane’s heart? And in any case, who’s Briar Lane, anyway?_ Things like that. The answers went as follows: _Yes. Who knows. I don’t care._ With that, I headed out. I decided I’d first head to the nearest high school. The voice on the phone sounded like that of a high school boy—even with just those eight words—and so, I decided it would be smart for me to check there first. The school let me in as a guest without any issue—which only made me worry—no, that’s a lie, too. All I had to tell them was my name and the reason I was there. Of course, I gave neither question a truthful answer. I told the woman at the front desk my name was Mr. Thousand, which she seemed to believe a little too quickly, even for my standards. The reason: I had to deliver something to a student. This almost became a problem, as the woman told me to leave it with her for her to call the student in question down to get it, but I quickly recovered, telling her it was a bit too personal of a personal care product for me to leave in a stranger’s hands. Again, she believed me, and I was let into the main area of the school building.

Once inside, I devised a plan. It ended up working perfectly, so instead of explaining it here just to go into how it failed, I will simply recount the scene of me putting my perfect plan into action. In fact, it is not even a hard plan to explain. I simply looked around the school, acting casual, just in case someone was to walk by (which many did), looking for anything that might point me in the right direction. Luckily, as I was walking past the auditorium, I happened across a sign advertising the school’s upcoming play. I don’t remember what it was for, and I don’t care. I’ve never been one for plays, even in high school (—actually, maybe even more so in high school). There was one thing on the advert that caught my attention, however, and that was a name under the Tech Crew label. The name in question was—not Briar Lane, if that’s what you were wondering. It was actually Harrison Lane, which I guessed was a brother or maybe even a cousin. After obtaining this information, I began looking over every locker in the building (all while still looking inconspicuous, of course), because—foolishly—there was a piece of paper advertising the play on the lockers of every student participating, Soon enough, I found the locker with not only the advert, but another paper that said _“_ Good luck, Harrison! _”_ This child would never make it in my business—or maybe that was a lie. Maybe there wasn’t a letter like that on his locker. Who can say for sure—not even I know that. So, after finding the locker, I waited (inconspicuously—or maybe not) until the boy came to get something. It wasn’t long either, as the bell had rung moments after I found it—but then again, it may have taken over an hour of waiting. Either one was annoying for me, as I would have to get a safe distance away before getting caught, and waiting for over an hour is painful no matter where you are. Once he got to the locker, I watched him as he inputted his lock’s combination, which I immediately committed to memory. My memory has gotten quite good after working in such a lucrative business for so long. The combination was 16-36-06, which was certainly a pain to input, but I succeeded nonetheless. Once inside, I found the boy’s phone. I wasn’t positive he would leave his phone in his locker, but it seems he was indeed a fool—maybe that’s why he was in Tech Crew. If you were wondering, I didn’t particularly have a plan for if he hadn’t left his phone in his locker, but then again, maybe I did. No—that’s a lie. I didn’t have a backup plan. Feel free to make fun of me. Moving on, once I obtained the boy’s phone, I looked in the contacts for a Miss Briar Lane, which was close to the top, as her name started with a _“_ B. _”_ This boy Harrison seemed to be quite the perfectionist, as every name had a list of very specific details about the person, such as height, weight, relation, relationship status (not that I cared), blood type, income, email addresses, and finally, home address. Why this boy felt the need for any of that is beyond me, but it did help my job, so I’m not complaining—I’m just a little worried (a lie) for those that know him. From that, I committed Briar’s home address (which seemed to be different that Harrison’s—a divorce maybe) to my memory before returning the phone to his locker. Actually, no, before I put it away, I wrote down the names of all the people in his contacts that had large incomes—I would have plenty of work cut out for me later. Immediately after, I signed out at the front desk, said a false _“Thank you so much for letting me deliver that package_ , _”_ and headed out. I would continue my job that night.

Nothing that matters happened between me getting Briar Lane’s address and night, so I will skip it entirely. I hope you weren’t expecting me to get a call telling me to withdraw now just because I mentioned that earlier. No, you’re not that foolish—I would hope. No, nothing happened, and so, when night came, I set out.

The house was modest, a place that looked to only have about two bedrooms—maybe a guest room, as well—but it still looked quite nice. Like whoever was living inside was making an effort to keep up appearances. My immediate thought was that Harrison had gone off to live with their father, and this was Briar and their mother’s home—so this had to have been the work of her mother. Of course, after a divorce, it’s only natural for both parties involved to want to keep up appearances—if anything were to happen that would make them falter, society would likely look at them to be the one in question—the one that forced the two to split. Anyway, I digress. I made sure to keep myself hidden from any normal view (since even I didn’t want to make a scene, much like at the high school). As it was now nighttime, I was able to sneak about the house, looking into each window, looking for what might look something like a teenage girl’s bedroom—I didn’t know what exactly to be looking for, as I have never been a teenage girl, but I knew I’d probably know when I saw (especially comparing it to her mother’s). After circling the house, I found that Miss Briar Lane’s room was on the rightmost side of the back of the house (facing the house), and, after getting far enough away to see into that room, found that she had already turned out the lights to go to sleep. I climbed up the trellis and through her window—breaking and entering was not new to me, so I’ll spare the details—and approached the sleeping girl.

She looked nothing like Harrison, which made me wonder if they were actually related. If you’re wondering what he looked like, let me tell you that I have left a detailed description of him at the end of this tale, so please be patient. Now, I shall describe the girl. Briar Lane—a nametag on the bag next to her bed—had thick, brown hair reaching down to somewhere around her shoulder blades. It seemed like it had been in pigtails that day, as there were two ruffled scrunchies on her bedside table. Her face was somewhat clean, very pale, yet no freckle or blemish in sight. She was quite the lucky girl—ironically enough. She seemed like the type of child that tried to force herself to seem independent, which was somewhat laughable to someone who had forced himself to seem entirely dependent on others his whole life. I shall end off my examination of her with her clothing. At the time (AKA night), she was wearing what looked to be like a pink pajama set, both pants and shirt. She seemed comfortable enough, and seeing her slightly smiling face put me at ease—even if only for a moment.

_I had a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do it._ With that in mind, I slowly pulled the blanket away from the girl, moving her shirt ever so slightly, and with that, I snatched her heart away from her. It was a simple task, really, and to think I had once asked myself if I was capable of such a feat was frustrating in its own right. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I took the girl’s heart—which I held in my hands—and placed it into a bag I had acquired earlier that day. I knew I would need it. If you’re sad to see just how quick, simple, and easy this task was, I will say I’m quite disappointed in you for downplaying my expertise. How dare you. Truly.

I exited as swiftly as I entered, leaving no such thing as a trace of any human existence entering that room aside from the girl. Once I had made it about a block away from their home, my phone rang. It was the client’s voice again. That of the teenage boy. _“You have done well. One hundred thousand dollars will be waiting for you at your home.”_ I forced myself to ask him what it was he wanted the heart for, to which he stated, _“That? Well, I don’t need it. If you want, you may even dispose of it. It is of no concern to me anymore.”_ He hung up, and that was the last I ever heard from that boy. Just as I was about to continue home, someone else stopped me. This time, a woman. She looked familiar—or maybe not. Maybe that’s not what was strange about her. Though, do not be confused, there certainly was an air about her that I just couldn’t place. _Why does this oppressive atmosphere feel so familiar?_ I found myself asking (not aloud—I’m no fool). The woman was dressed in a white sundress, even at night, accompanied by a large, white sun hat. Her medium length, red hair waved in the wind beneath, giving off a strange, almost dangerous air. _“Why is it you feel afraid?”_ she asked me. I couldn’t respond, so I didn’t. Instead, I clenched my grip around the bag—a bag holding a young girl’s heart. She went on, nonetheless. _“You seem busy. I won’t bother you long. Though…I…feel as though you shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing… I’m sorry…I don’t quite understand why I would think that… I’ll be on my way…”_ And with those parting words, she was gone. Walking back the way I had come, I watched as she stopped in front of Briar Lane’s home, looking up at the house longingly. An empty shell, that was what she was. No substance to her character—not anymore. I went home. To my surprise, the $100,000 was indeed in my mailbox. It was the easiest job I had ever been assigned. _So why do I feel like this?_ I set the bag down at my table, laying down on my bed. There was a lot I had to think about, but none of it was important. Nothing was important anymore. Not when you’ve felt the beating of one’s heart in your own hands. A week passed.

After going on for so long without a heart, Briar Lane had enlisted someone to get it back. That’s who I had ran into. It wasn’t a coincidence, it seemed. He knew I would be walking this way—which way, that doesn’t concern you—and had planned an ambush. _“What is your name, boy?”_ I asked, to which he replied, _“Mallory Morrigan, sir. I hear that bag you’ve got has her heart inside. I’ll be taking that with me.”_ Everything he said seemed noble—but it all sounded completely and utterly emotionless. Nothing he said held any semblance of fear, anger, remorse, pride—nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was incapable of emotions—like me. The boy was wearing a white tengu mask, covering the entirety of his face. It seemed he had lived his life behind a mask literally. He was wearing something like a school uniform—which made me think Briar and Harrison had gone to different schools—his midi skirt blowing in the wind. Looking at him, I began to see the full picture, and, letting out a sigh, I gave the boy a proposition. _“Listen, Mr. Mallory Morrigan, I shall give you this heart, but in return, you must do something for me…”_ The only thing running through my mind as I spoke was _money, money, money_. _“I would like to see your face. That is all.”_ With that, the boy slowly lifted his hand to his face. He grabbed the mask—but stopped. _“Are… Are you really Mr. Thousand?”_ he asked. I assured him I was, and, after a moment of self-deliberation, Mr. Mallory Morrigan removed that awful mask. His face was clean, as well—just like Briar Lane’s. His eyes were both the same color—that color being green—but his pupils seemed to be different sized. _“Anisocoria. Interesting.”_ I muttered. Although I said earlier that there was no emotion whatsoever in his voice, his face was another story. At first, it may seem emotionless, as well, but I knew better than to accept that as truth. I looked further, and I saw fear. He was scared, afraid, terrified of being seen. He didn’t want to show himself to anyone—let alone some strange man he only knew as the person that had stolen Briar Lane’s heart—but he was desperate. _“Why is it that you want her heart back?”_ I asked. He looked confused—but only for a moment—saying, _“That should be obvious to you, shouldn’t it, sir?”_ There was a long silence, and then: _“Take it,”_ I said, tossing the bag towards the boy, _“I don’t need it anymore.”_ He forcible pushed the mask back up to his face, looking into the bag to see if I was indeed telling the truth (maybe I wasn’t), then looked back up at me. _“Why…did you have this with you? It’s been a week, were you_ — _”_ He stopped, then: _“Thank you.”_ I took my leave shortly thereafter.

On my way back, I ran into her again. The woman in the white sundress—it seemed she was waiting for me this time. I wanted to make it seem as though I hadn’t noticed her, so I continued walking past her, but I soon realized I shouldn’t have done that. Before I knew it, I was shot against a nearby wall, hundreds of hands gripping me, holding me still at the base of the building. Most of the hands started to fade away, leaving the two at my wrists to hold me tight. The woman stood back, smiling the way she had the week prior—that oppressive aura returning to the scene. I could hardly breathe, and my heartrate began to quicken. She began to take a step forward, but before actually making a move, her foot stopped, her smile turning into a frown. _“It’s missing…”_ I heard her say. _“There’s nothing left at all…”_

I don’t know why, but I began to feel tears running down my face as I stood pinned to the wall. I could hardly move, and each small movement resulted in a good amount of pain, so I stopped moving soon after realizing that was the case. I’m no masochist. The woman, too, began crying, looking down on me, holding her head up, looking past her nose. The sun hat stuck to her head nicely, but now was not the time to be noticing things like that. _“Mr. Thousand…”_ she whispered, yet it seemed to feed directly into my ear, even from twenty or thirty feet away. _“You’ve grown up so much, haven’t you?”_ I didn’t understand what she was saying, but that oppressive air left me speechless, yet again. Even if I wanted to say something to her, I couldn’t. She was pushing down on me more than she knew. She didn’t need me to respond to keep going. _“There was something you had last we met_ — _I made mention of that ‘thing you shouldn’t be doing,’ but it seems you went ahead anyway, huh?”_ She wiped away her tears, but mine stayed, blurring my vision. _“Why did you give her heart to that boy? Why did you return it? After all that time_ — _time wasted_ — _you went ahead and gave it back anyway…”_ It was made clear to me quickly that she most certainly was NOT the one who had requested the job. He wouldn’t have acted like this—not like this, at all. She continued. _“Was it pity? Was it fear? Frustration? What was it? What the hell was it that made you change your ways? After everything that’s happened_ — _that boy was able to get you to change? After everything_ — _”_ Finally able to speak, I interrupted her to say, _“It was you.”_

The woman looked at me, seemingly pleased, seeming displeased—disheartened, maybe. That air of oppression was fading, but so was everything else. I was still unable to move, forced to sit back as the woman in white turned to walk away, still crying. Each step she’d take took her further and further away from me, and before long, that aura had disappeared altogether, leaving nothing but pain in my chest. I closed my eyes to think, and as I opened them back up to look at my hands, those that were holding me in place were gone. In their places were a pair of handcuffs. The wall, the back of a police car. I don’t know when I had been stuck in there, or how, or even why, but I felt glad I had been—and that’s the truth. From now on, no more lies.


	2. EVERYTHING

The last time something happened, I didn’t get to say anything about it—and, if you want to know the truth, a lot of what was said didn’t happen. That Mr. Thousand guy **did** say he was going to lie about some things, but I didn’t know he’d lie **that** much. Like, wow, what in there was true? Well, I guess he didn’t really lie all that much about our confrontation, so that’s good—or about how he actually **did** steal Briar’s heart… What’s with that guy? Well, whatever, this isn’t about him—directly. Heck, if you want to take this idea and stretch it out across the universe, you **could** say this story is about everything. Everything all at once. Everything that has ever happened, everything that ever will happen—leaving not a single rock left unturned. This is my story—well, my family’s—and so, with that, the tale of the Mr. Mallory Morrigan’s family begins. Like the last story, this one is not a happy tale, but there’s more **light** in the end than dark. You’ll just have to wait and see.

I wake up at the same time every day, which is just about five-fifty in the morning. Don’t ask why—I don’t know. It’s become such a thing in my house that my sisters—all three, all younger than me—have decided that it’s now their duty to wake up earlier than me so they can be the ones to get me up. At the same time as always. Honestly, they’re a couple of **idiots** , but I love those guys. They’re great. So you don’t get too confused, I’m just going to tell you about those three now. See, I’m eighteen, and my oldest sister is sixteen—her name’s Kotaku Tanaka. Yes, I see that there’s something a bit strange about that. Our mother is a very busy woman, and she travels the world all the time, and has had children in more than one country. With that, she decided her kids would have names from that nation. The names go like this: English, Japanese, Japanese, and French. I’m obviously the English one. Moving on now, Kotaku is your average brawns of the family. She started playing soccer in elementary school, which then went to football and basketball in middle school, and now, in high school, she focuses on MMA. Quite the princess. You’d think she’d be stupid because she’s such a meathead, but she’s actually the smartest in the family. I’m the idiot, if you want to know the truth. You can find Kotaku roaming the streets in some sort of jersey (like Bruce Lee) with her knuckles all bound up, just in case she has to kick someone’s ass. Now, the middle sister, who was also born in Japan (our mother spent a long time there on a certain case, but I was too young to remember what it was). Her name’s Kokoro Tanaka, and she is a copy. Even her name is uninspired. I feel like our mother should have focused more on her kids after giving birth to her third one, but that’s in the past. She’s grown into quite the young lady. She’s fourteen. She usually wears weirdly patterned dresses, but she plays it off like it’s not weird. She **is** weird, though. That much I’ll tell you. She’s pretty middle of the road when it comes to academics, and sports seem to bore her—so I guess we have **something** in common. Also, she hates **me**. What I did, no one knows, but that doesn’t matter. The only person she looks up to is Kotaku, since even our mom’s never around. Since I’m an adult, I watch over the house while she goes off to other countries to expose stuff or something. No big deal. I’m an alright guardian, if I do say so myself. Kokoro wouldn’t say that, though. Finally, there’s the youngest. She’s a lot younger than me—I think she’s about seven now—since our mom had a bit of a hard time between Kokoro and her. The _“_ **her** _”_ in question being Madeleine Faust. I don’t know why she has a German last name, considering she lived more than half her life in France, born and raised. I guess it’s just one of those things. Being the youngest, she’s also very much so the shortest—only about half my height—which is natural I guess. The only one taller than me is Kotaku, but that’s probably because of how much she exercises. I think. Anyway, if you want to know what Madeleine looks like, just imagine **Alice Liddell** —at least, the Disney version. Not only is she the youngest, but she’s also the shyest, quietest, and—she hangs around me the most. I don’t think Kokoro really likes her, either, so I guess we’re pretty similar in that way, but why Kotaku ignores her, I’m not quite sure. Maybe it’s another one of those _“_ unspoken things. _”_ I don’t really care, though—it doesn’t affect me in any way. Why would it? Exactly. Anyway, moving on…

_“Get up, dude!” “Come on, idiot!”_ _“Mallory, it’s time to get up…”_ Those were the three completely different wake up calls I got that morning. Now knowing them, you can figure out who said what. I tried ignoring them at first, but after Kotaku attempted to body slam me—whoa, wait, **what**?! _“What the hell?! Are you trying to kill me?!”_ _“Well, you know, bro, you were trying to continue sleeping. Why not make it eternal?”_ So there’s a reason! Anyway, after that, I got up, got Madeleine dressed and the others ready for school, I got myself ready for the day. I went back to my room to change into my school uniform—one of those gray, long sleeve shirts you have to wear the white one underneath, as well as a nice, long, gray skirt. I also grabbed my mask, which I was actually shocked I had forgotten earlier that morning. Maybe that’s what prompted Madeleine to say, _“Mallory, aren’t you forgetting something?”_ Kotaku said, _“Maybe he’s just grown up!”_ prompting Kokoro to then say, _“Like that idiot’d ever grow up!”_ Thanks, Kokoro. Your name fits you so well. Have a heart.

Speaking of hearts, when I exited my house to walk to school (I had seen the girls off earlier—Kotaku goes to a different high school than me), I ran into Briar. No, I didn’t **run into her** , per sé—it’s more like she was **waiting for me**. Wait, did I…tell her **where I lived**? Whatever… _“Hey,”_ I said, _“What’s up?”_ _“Oh, wouldn’t you just **love** to know, Mr. **Knight-In-Shining-Amour**.”_ I laughed at her joke, ignoring her mispronunciation of the word _“_ **armor**. _”_ She had been through a lot recently, so I didn’t quite have the heart (that sounds insensitive) to point out her errors. Then again, maybe she did say it correctly. She does have this weird accent—Irish, Scottish, something like that—so maybe that was what it was. **Anyway** , _“How have things been since… **you know** …?”_ _“Actually, **no** , I don’t know. Would you please explain to me what this is about? My dropping grades? My financial situation? My burning desire to watch you yourself burn?”_ Thanks, Briar. I decided to drop the topic, as she continued on in that fashion until we made it to school. Me and Briar are in the same class, by the way. It’s embarrassing knowing she’ll be watching me now—I’d like to say we became pretty good friends due to the… **strange** circumstances. Before we were silenced by the teacher, though, Briar leaned over to me and whispered into my ear, _“What’s next, I wonder?”_ I… **don’t** think she was talking about the lesson plan, which makes me worry… **about myself**.

Nothing much happened at school, really. Briar **did** decide, however, that she’d be spending the rest of the day at my place, though. I mean, that’s great and all, but I’ve never had anyone stay over at my house before, and the first person to is **Briar Lane**? What the hell is up with these last few weeks? _“What’s happening?”_ she asked. I didn’t know what she was talking about, as I had been maybe a bit too focused on that last thought, but when I brought myself back to attention, I saw it. Out a little ways past my house, coming up the hill—was Kotaku——and Madeleine———and————and—————

_“What happened to Kokoro?!”_ I yelled as soon as I ran over. _“Wh-Wh-Wh_ — _”_ I was freaking out, but luckily Kotaku interrupted me. _“Calm down, dude, just calm down! I…I don’t know what’s up… Listen, we’re just gonna have to wait ’til she wakes up!”_ She carried her up to her room, laid her down, and then we waited.

While we were waiting, Briar began to get bored, and so she dragged me out of Kokoro’s room so we could talk in private. What was with **her**? Maybe she was thinking back on when her heart had been stolen—not all that long ago, either. Anyway, when we got a good enough distance away (I guess so they couldn’t even hear us under the door—I don’t know), she said, _“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”_ _“Wha— No, why would **I**? I’m the **most** confused one here!”_ _“You sure do **think** that, don’t you? Well, anyway, I t only brought that up because I think I know what is happening…”_ Her face grew much more serious—dead serious—as she looked me in the eyes. _“Really? What do you think is happening?”_ _“ **She’s in love.** ”_ Oh, for **crying** out loud! _“Are you kidding me?! That’s what you think this is?! She looks like she’s about to **die** , and you think she’s **in love**?!”_ _“The same has been happening to me_ — _though, not quite to this extreme. What I’m trying to say is_ — _”_ She grabbed my hand— **tight**. **Way** too tight! Ow! _“Kiss me.”_ _“Excuse me?! Ow, my hand! Stop, it hurts! Ow!”_ She let go. _“ **Just kidding,** ”_ she said with a completely blank face. Just what exactly was she? _“ **Anyway** ,”_ she continued, _“I don’t know exactly what’s happening to her_ — _I don’t **think**_ — _but I think I do know where this all started…”_ _“‘Started?’ What do you mean by **that**? You know who did this to her?”_ At that moment, Kotaku sprinted over to us. _“Guys, she’s up! Heck, she’s even got something to say!”_

_“Apparently a man by the name of Mr. Thousand has been selling these strange items to kids,”_ Kokoro spat out. She sounded exhausted, but an even heavier drape fell upon me when I heard that name. I’d assume the same went for Briar, but even with her face uncovered, there was not a single emotion slipping through her defenses. Either that, or she just didn’t hear her—she was incredibly quiet, lying there, her stomach slowly rising and lowering. Her face had gotten redder than before, and everything on her looked like it was in pain. She continued. _“Something that can do…this type of thing to people… Apparently someone used it on me… I don’t know why… It’s not like **I** did anything, right?”_ As I was taking in what she said, I was also thinking about just how strange this whole situation was. My sister, Kokoro Tanaka, the girl that always seems to have the upper hand—even if only for a moment—laying here weakly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in this state before in my life. She’s one of those freaks that never seems to get sick, even if everyone else in the house is dying (if you want to know, the weakest immune system in our house is a tie between me and Madeleine). Suddenly, Kotaku’s voice filled my ears. _“Mr. Thousand? Sounds weak to me. I’ll take that guy down_ — _and I’ll make him cure you, **too**.”_ _“No,”_ I said, _“I’ll talk to him.”_ _“Okay!”_ Did she change her mind?! _“ **Wait.** ”_ Briar grabbed my hand. Hers was… **very cold** … _“Are you **abso-facto-lutely sure** you want to do that? I’d say your odds of getting him to help with talking alone would be 1 to 80844264@81. **Are you sure about this?** ”_ _“Absolutely,”_ I said, ignoring the weird phrases she used in her statements. What was she getting at? **Whatever.** Immediately after I finished speaking, my cell phone rang. The caller was unknown, but I still answered, anyway. I’m one of those people—even thought I don’t like **people**. The voice sounded like a teenage boy. _“Mr. Mallory Morrigan, this is **Mr. Thousand**.”_

I was waiting at the park. That was where he had told me to go. I was afraid of what he’d do if I didn’t comply (considering he knew what we were talking about at the time), so I followed his orders and went straight to the nearest park. It wasn’t long before someone approached me—no, not a **someone** , more like… **something** … He didn’t seem human—didn’t **feel** human. The man that approached me looked to be a high school boy. He was wearing a long, black trench coat—too long really. It dragged behind him at least two feet. His hands were in his incredibly deep pockets, looking to be holding something. His vantablack hair was slicked back into a strange, almost rounded-spike formation. All of that to say—he definitely **wasn’t** Mr. Thousand. In fact, they didn’t even seem to be related. They looked nothing alike—and Mr. Thousand **felt human**. This man had an aura about him, giving off the vibe that **someone might get seriously hurt here**. I’m sure he could sense my fear, even through the mask.

_“Oh, don’t be like **that** , Mallory. I just want to talk to you.”_ I don’t know how this is possible, but he pulled a chair out from his pocket and took a seat across from me. I say chair, but this thing was more like a throne. It was massive! How did that thing fit in his **pocket**?! _“How’s the girl?”_ _“_ ‘ ** _Girl?_** _’ Oh_ — _Wait, you should know! Kokoro’s doing horrible_ — _”_ _“I do not mean your sister. I was referring to Miss Briar Lane. How is she doing?”_ _“ **Briar**? How do you know about Briar? You’re…clearly not Mr. Thousand, that’s for sure…”_ _“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. No sir, don’t worry your precious little head… Mr. Thousand_ — _as you know him as_ — _will not bother you again. After the stunt he pulled…”_ He started muttering to himself. _“Listen, boy_ — _You’re quite the hero. Going out of your way to save a girl you didn’t even know all that well… Quite a nice young man you are, hey? Although…”_ I could sense him looking at my clothes, but if he didn’t say anything, neither would I. _“Do you know what I am?”_ he asked me. _“What? No_ — _Why would I know anything about you?”_ _“Good answer… I’m Not Important.”_ He stuck out his hand for me to shake it, which confused me. Why lead off with that? _“I know you’re looking for the answers to everything right now. **EVERYTHING** , huh? Where’s a wall when you need one? Well, the fourth one, that is…”_ I wasn’t following anything he was saying. He confused me more than Mr. Thousand, and that’s **after** I saw what he said about Briar’s situation. What a compulsive **liar**. _“Anyway, Mallory,”_ he finally continued, _“I actually came to apologize. I had never intended to get your fool of a sister involved in my little scheme, but she seemed to stick her nose in too much. Did she tell you about that? It was her who had approached the child that purchased that object. What is the object? Oh, that doesn’t matter_ — _just some little charm, really. Nothing more than that. She’s quite acquainted with justice, my friend. Oh, you didn’t know that? She’s quite popular at that middle school. Well known for being an investigator_ — _a paranormal investigator, really. I won’t discuss that in depth with you, but I do want to give you this.”_ The man pulled his hand out of his pocket, along with it was some sort of bottle. _“Let that girl drink a bit of this_ — _a placebo cure for a placebo illness. Go on, take it.”_ I took it, then: _“Actually, will you do something for me?”_ he asked. _“What is it?”_ _“You look foolish in that mask, boy_ — _take it off. I’d like to see it.”_ I took it off, handing it to the man. _“Ah yes, a tengu. Do you like tengu? Is it because of your sisters? Is that why you wear this? Such fickle beings, really. Both your sisters **and** tengu. Anyway, you never answered my question_— _how’s Briar doing?”_ **Did I really not answer that question?** I could have sworn I did. **Whatever…** _“She’s…fine, I guess. She’s been acting a bit weird the last couple of days, but other than that_ — _seems fine to me.”_ As soon as those words came out of my mouth, the man crushed my mask into a thousand pieces. The fine dust fell slowly to the ground, piling up at my feet. _“I apologize for that… I’m sorry… Goodbye_ — _we shall meet again.”_ _“Wait,”_ I said, standing up, _“Where are you going?”_ _“I’m not going anywhere.”_ He poked my forehead, and I began to fall to the ground. _“ **You are.** ”_ I couldn’t move, time had slowed down, as if I was about to die. When I finally made it to the dirt, I—shattered. Into a million fragments—I broke apart, my body nowhere to be seen. What was left was what people would look at and assume was a mirror that had been dropped.

_“Wake up, idiot!”_ I heard. I was in my bed. Standing by my feet were my sisters—Briar had seemingly gone home, but then— _“Are you okay, Mallory?”_ Briar’s face was less than an inch to my left, at the side of the bed. I immediately shot to the other side of the bed, startled. _“What? Of course I’m fine! Why would you ask me that?!”_ **Alright, jokes over.** _“Kokoro, are you okay?”_ She immediately looked away from me, pouting. Then, Madeleine said, _“She took the medicine as directed by that Dr. Important man.”_ _“What? ‘ **Dr. Important?** ’ Who’s that? How did I get here?”_ Kotaku laughed. _“Dude, what’s with you? I arrived, like, **ten** minutes ago, told me to give that stuff to Kokoro, then came and crashed on you bed. Briar thought you were getting sick, so she told us to stand here and wait until you woke up_— _for some reason.”_ **What? When did…any of that happen?** _“Can I see that medicine?”_ Kotaku handed the bottle back to me.

Mallory Morrigan,

Although this starts with your name, you probably won’t be awake when you get home. Are you okay? Anyway, to whoever **is** awake that’s reading this, give two spoons of this medicine to the afflicted party every thirty minutes—don’t worry, you won’t overdose! That’s a joke! Anyway, Mallory! This part is actually for you, so anyone else, stop reading here! This is personal! **Listen** , Mallory, I understand that that mask was everything to you, and I apologize yet again for breaking it—but! Remember, there’s more to your life that’s much more important to you than how others see you, right? Look around you, there’s four good examples right there. Maybe it’s time you retired that ideology, wouldn’t you say? Besides, tengu are nothing but trouble! That’s a joke that only **you** get to hear! Now that that era of your life is over, think of this as a new beginning. Feel free to start talking to people, try new things, actually hang out with your family—but first, start with **the girl right next to you**. You’re an idiot if you haven’t picked up on anything she’s been doing. Trust me, that girl’s someone you’ll one day be glad you know. Now then, I’ll end this here. There’s not much more I can say!

Yours Truly,

Not Important

_“Sorry, bro, but I read the whole thing_ — _to myself, to myself!”_ Kotaku immediately yelled out. _“It does explain why you’re not wearing that dumb mask, though.”_ **Dumb mask…** _“Well, thanks, but I’m fine, so can you three get out of here? I’d like to talk to Miss Briar Lane, if you’d please.”_ Surprisingly, they obeyed—Kokoro still not saying anything to me. She was probably thinking. Anyway…

_“Briar, do you know someone who apparently goes by the name **Not Important**?”_ _“No, not that I know of… It did seem strange, though, the way he knew who I was…”_ **Wait, what?** _“How do you know? Did you read the letter?”_ _“What? No. There was a message on your forehead when you showed up. It said something like, ‘Briar, now’s your chance! Carpe diem!’”_ _“Well that’s ominous!”_ Then: _“Just kidding.”_ She smiled, but it wasn’t too big. Her face muscles seemed pretty…not that great… That’s fine. **I don’t care.** _“So then,”_ she said, _“is that all you wanted to ask me? We **are** in private now. You can ask **whatever** you want.”_ _“What’s that supposed to mean?”_ I was still laying on my bed, unmoving. Then, at that moment, Briar took a seat next to me, resting her head in her hands—which were then resting on my rib cage. **Ow.** _“Is there…something you **want** me to ask you?”_ _“No… Not really… Well_ — _”_ She looked away. _“I was thinking…”_ _“You were, huh? That’s crazy. What was this thought about?”_ I tried to be sarcastic like her, but when I said it, it sounded really forced and awkward. And rude. _“It may seem like a foreign idea to you, but I actually think quite a bit. I was ranked in the top two percent in the country last school year, you know.”_ **How was this so natural for her?!** _“Well, what were you thinking?”_ I asked again. _“Well… I was wondering if you would want to_ — _No, that’s wrong. I would like to… Can I… No…”_ She kept struggling with her words—she was usually an expert with them—but then, she said, _“Let’s date.”_ I was shocked. **What?! Is this what Not Important meant?! What’s going on here** — _“Just kidding."_


End file.
